


come apart at the seams

by rillrill



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her hand is stinging, buzzing with the impact, and her hair’s beginning to escape its ponytail, tendrils loosening around her face. She doesn’t bother to smooth them back. She <i>likes</i> it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come apart at the seams

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Graceless" by the National.

It half started as a joke.

What’s not a joke is the way Jimmy leans into her the first time she smacks him playfully when she sees him leaning over to make the bed, the way his breath hitches and he grins sheepishly from the corner of his mouth, over his shoulder, pressing his hands flat to the bedclothes. “You can do that again,” he says, and she does, six more, ranging from tentative to – well, not full-strength, because that’s not…

(What _is_ this? Her hand is stinging, buzzing with the impact, and her hair’s beginning to escape its ponytail, tendrils loosening around her face. She doesn’t bother to smooth them back. She _likes_ it.)

Jimmy moans with the last one, a little half-groan that cuts out halfway through. Like he’s embarrassed, or something. “Hey,” Kim mutters. “Don’t hold back. You can make noise.”

She’s not quite sure what the protocol is here, doesn’t want to push this too far, but – Jimmy leans further over the bed, kind of sticking his ass out like he doesn’t want to ask for more, but she can read him, she’s always been able to read him, and Kim steels herself and rubs her hand between his shoulders for a moment before she lays into him again.

Each blow forces out a little breathy gasp, his voice crackly and rough at the edges, and she can see his face starting to go pink as he takes them. These Irish boys. She should have known this would be a thing. She bites the inside of her cheek where it’s already raw and grabs his hips to straighten him out, digs her fingers into the fabric of his boxers and begins to slowly ease them down over his erection.

“Shit, Kim.” He’s got his forehead pressed against the crook of his arm on the duvet, and on a whim she reaches up, grabs a handful of sandy hair and pulls him up to look her in the face. He gasps at that too, like every sensation is totally new, and her heart is pounding a little as his eyes flick up to meet hers. She cocks a brow, waiting for him to ask for more, and it takes him a moment, but he grins again, a little bit cocky, and arches his back. “You can do whatever you want to me, sweetheart.”  
  
“Can I,” she says, and tries to modulate her voice to keep from sounding too excited about that, but she can’t control the way his broken tone sends a pulse through her, the way her cunt is throbbing from seeing his need laid bare like this. “Good to know.”  
  
She sees his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, tightens her grip in his hair. “Yeah,” he adds, “please, _fuck_ , keep going.”  
  
“That’s what I like to hear,” she says, calm and collected, and drops his head back to the bedclothes, lets him tuck his face back against his forearm. Watches all his muscles tense in anticipation. The thing that strikes her as strange about this position isn’t the control – it’s hardly the first time she’s taken the lead like this – but how easily the next moves come to her. Taking Jimmy apart, pressing on each of his buttons in order. She ghosts her fingers over his warming skin, feels the muscles of his upper thighs flex, preparing for the blow, and she holds back a little laugh. Brushes her hair back from her face with one hand before she lays into him again.  
  
He takes five more on his bare ass before she’s had enough – pushes him up onto the bed, onto his back. He’s shockingly hard, just from _that_ , his boxers tangled around mid-thigh as she unzips her tight skirt, yanks her underwear off, and sinks onto him. Kim bites down hard on her bottom lip, pushes her blunt nails into the flesh of his upper arms, leaves little half-moon marks there and in the hard shell of his collarbone. He’s biting his own lip, from red to white to red again, and she wants to kiss him but doesn’t want to break the rhythm. He groans intermittently, eyes slitted shut, grabs her hips to thrust up into her, positions the ball of his hand just so, lets her grind down against him with every stroke. Familiar.  
  
“Hey,” she mutters, “look at me,” and with what looks like great effort, he opens his eyes, staring up at her like he’s never seen anything like this before. She presses his shoulders down hard on the bed, changes the rhythm with her hips. “Don’t move,” she adds, more like an order than a request, and he flexes his hands in supplication, laid out on the bed like a chalk figure on the pavement.  
  
“Whatever you say,” Jimmy says, “you’re the boss,” and Kim shifts in position, rises up a little further on her knees and begins to ride him in earnest. She half expects him to shut his eyes again, but he _obeys_ , miracle of miracles, just keeps his gaze trained on her face – she realizes, with a hot flush, that she’s still got her shirt on, it’s not like he’s getting much tit action from her starched blue blouse – but Jimmy’s not complaining. For once, he’s not talking at all.  
  
She moves one of his hands back to her clit, and he gets the memo immediately; rubs her through a sharp orgasm, lets her use him until she falls forward against his chest. “Go ahead,” she mutters, “fuck me, babe,” and he does, hips snapping upward in a ruthless rhythm, all that tension uncoiling at once. She holds onto his shoulders, gives him the leverage he needs, runs her tongue along the shell of his ear. Takes his earlobe between her teeth and bites down. He groans out loud at that, and she does it again, and he’s moaning out loud when she feels him shoot off inside her.  
  
They’re late to work. At least it’s a slow day. They’ve only got themselves (and the two paralegals) to disappoint.

(They’re cuddled up that night, and she puts her head on his chest and smiles cagily up at him, watches his face turn from contemplative to amused. He’s so transparent. No poker face when it comes to her. “This morning was, uh,” he says. “I always knew you had it in you."  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, and he runs a palm down her bare arm and grins.  
  
“You’re a _tiger_ when you get pissed off,” he smirks, and she knows she should be annoyed at his sexualizing her anger or something, but the thing is, she can’t summon the irritation right now.)


End file.
